Satisfy
by TheAllPowerfulOz
Summary: Live Journal Kink Meme Fill #7 Yaoi! Malik, Altair and Maria watching!
1. Chapter 1

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_I had most of this fill written from an edited part of another fic I'm working on. I liked the prompt so much I decided to pull this back out and finish it. Please excuse the discrepancies and the exposition, it was meant to be part of a MUCH LARGER AU fic._

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**PROMPT;**

_Maria wants to watch Altaïr and Malkin gettin' it on.  
Maria gets what she wants.  
Always._

_Come on anon! Give Maria some love! I just kicked her ass in AC, and she deserves a little somethin' somethin'._

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**Satisfy**

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**Chapter 1; Loose Cannon**

It was the pregnancy, he knew it was. Pregnancy made women do crazy things… Another reason Altair didn't particularly like dealing with them.

Maria was standing in front of him, hands on her widened hips, stomach jutting out the front of her tunic just enough to be noticeable, her head turned in a domineering Holier-than-thou way. Her eyebrows were scrunched together, mouth pursed upward in a displeased pout she sometimes wore moments before throwing something, most usually something sharp, at Altair's crotch.

And Altair was sitting at his desk, both hands clamped over the edge of a large book, body tense, ready to move that book with lightning quick reflexes to cover his privates the second Maria's hand twitched.

Had it not been for the sideways, wary, almost fearful glance he was throwing her from under his hood, he would have looked normal, bent forward with his face close to the book and his back hunched.

As tempted as he was to ask what he'd done to afford being glared at, he held his tongue, because the bulge of her belly was evidence enough of exactly what he'd done.

"Malik is limping."

Innocent enough to an outsider, but Altair was not an outsider, and neither was the woman before him.

"He had it coming…"

She shifted her weight to the side and Altair flinched, pulling the book into his lap in a preemptive defensive movement.

"I don't think it's fair."

"What?"

She snarled under her breath, and Altair wondered if what Malik said was true and a woman with child displayed the temperament the babe would hold as an adult.

At that moment Altair wondered what unholy horror he'd unleashed upon his own mother and swallowed thickly.

"I don't think it fair that our marriage bed extends to him."

Altair swallowed again, bitterness flooding his mouth.

"The two of you can roll around like pigs in the hall, or in the library, in his room or in the cupboards for all I care… But the moment you brought him into our bed, you included me as well."

There was a fine line between worry and panic, and Altair found himself straddling it.

"You do know how badly I dislike being excluded… Don't you?" Her voice was deceptively sweet, her eyes narrowing, lips curling upward in a way that would have, in any other context been attractive and alluring, but at the moment made Altair cringe away from her.

He knew exactly how much she hated being excluded. She'd been quite forward about it the moment she'd found him in his study months ago, slouched on the cushions by the window with his hand in his pants.

Come to think of it, he was pretty sure her hatred of being excluded was the reason her womb was filled.

There was no reasoning with her in these instances. When Maria became fixated on something, she was like an infection, boring away and making life a living hell until she got what she was after. And she always got it too, either willingly, or out of sheer pigheadedness.

"What do you want."

And she straightened, patting her belly pleasantly, a genuine, rather beautiful smile pinking her pale, lovely cheeks. "I expect you in our bed tonight."

He blinked at her for a moment; "And…"

"Bring Malik with you." She turned and started to leave.

He sat back in his seat, squaring his shoulders. "No."

She paused in the door and turned to look at him, her eyebrows drawing down over expressive eyes. "Yes."

"I said no."

Her cheeks became a livid red and she hurried back to him, snatched his hand away from the book and flattened it on her stomach. "I said 'yes.'"

Altair at first looked perfectly insulted that she would be so brazen as to put his hand on her body in broad daylight in his study no less, where anyone could happen by them at any moment, but no sooner had the expression pulled his face into a twisted, unattractive scowl than her stomach jiggled firmly beneath his fingers.

Altair did not make a habit of associating with pregnant women, in fact, Maria's own was the first time he'd ever looked at a pregnant woman more than with a fleeting disinterested eye, and he had before then lived under the misconception that a baby was like a seed planted in the earth. Everything happened invisibly, without motion or notice until birth.

As fascinating as Maria thought the movement was, Altair pulled his hand back quickly with a startled cry, his eyes wide face gone pale under his tan. "FINE! Whatever you want! J-just don't— _That_— Not again!" And he slammed his book back onto his desk and buried his face in it.

Maria scowled again, staring at him in a confused, and yet somehow amused way, then shook her head and retreated with a flip of her hand. "Fine, we don't need your approval!"

A group of novices passed by the door and she shouted at them; "YOU!"

Two of the boys fled, the third and youngest, turned and stared at her with round, terrified eyes.

She towered over him with her hands on her hips; "Your master's wife starves! Go now and don't return until you've found grapes and a large bit of cheese!"

He nodded quickly, and darted away down the stairs.

Altair prayed quickly that she gave him only sons… He didn't think he could handle a daughter with Maria's tendencies.

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Night fell…

And Altair found himself hesitating as he made his way toward his bedchamber.

He returned to his study twice, tidying the books and papers. Cleaning quills and lining them up, first in order of size, then grouping them by color. Whether they had stripes or faded into darker color. Swept dust and dirt that had accumulated on the floor under a rug, crushed a few spiders that had built webs in the corners, or under furniture, moved all the cushions from the corner to make sure no snakes had gotten in and slithered back there. Rearranged them and—

"Your wife is looking for you. She's stomping about the Garden as we speak… I don't think I've ever seen the Doves so frightened."

He turned quickly and glared at the man in the door. Sneering at the rather cheeky grin on Malik's face before he stalked to the window and peered out…

He could see flitting billowy white figures rushing about as if in a tizzy, hear excited high pitched chatter.

"She doesn't frighten them…" He sighed, noticing how they scattered and weaved about as Maria tried to stomp up to them and speak.

Malik scoffed; "She frightens _me!"_

Altair glanced over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth turned up. "Then I regret to say, she is also looking for you."

Malik paled. "You jest."

"Something about how if our marriage bed extends to you she intends not to be left out."

He had only seen Malik turn that shade of green twice. Once as a teen when he'd swallowed a rather nasty tasting tonic supplied by one of the healers to cure a violent bout of hiccups, and another time when he'd got a nose full of some exotic 'incense' Altair had given him when they were much younger, that was actually just made of ground camel dung.

If he wasn't mistaken, one corner of the library still smelled of the stuff and it had been years ago.

"You haven't seen me." And Malik disappeared quickly, leaving behind only the fading soft thump of his boots as he fled.

Altair darted after him, shutting the door to his study, and practically running to catch up with him where he was trying to find an empty room to hide in. Hell, even an occupied room would suffice at this moment.

They wound up in a storage cupboard near the infirmary, tussling as they both tried to fit into the cramped space. Altair trying to force Malik out into the hall again, Malik slapping at his face and catching the other man's forearm between his teeth.

Jars rattled ominously on the shelves, and with one last shove, and a hard yank from Malik's teeth, they both tumbled out into the hallway again, right at the feet of a healer, who glared at them with sleepy eyes from under bushy brows and an even bushier beard.

They climbed quickly to their feet, fumbled with one another, trying to pull or push in opposite directions, before they both took off at a near silent sprint back the way they'd come.

"She's you wife! It's your duty to tend to her!" Malik growled as they both ducked into a dark, empty room.

"She's with child! What if I—"

"Be gentle! Have we not covered this?" Malik aimed a swat at his head, but it was too dark to see and he ended up catching the end of his nose instead. "I have experience in this area! She is more likely to come to harm chasing you around than she is during sex! You should be pleased she didn't try to kill you when she discovered us. I know my Zaria would!"

"She wouldn't kill me… My favor is mostly why none of the others try to harm her."

"Be glad she didn't geld you then!"

"She might yet!"

"I do not believe she would… I think she enjoys having her belly filled, have you seen the way she prances around? Like a well fed _cat!"_

"Malik…" His voice was a thin hiss and Malik could imagine him rubbing at his brow in the darkness.

And then the door opened.

She was carrying a lamp, her face rather clear of emotion. "There you are…" She beckoned them out of the room with a flap of her hand.

For half a breath Altair entertained the idea of shoving Malik at her and running for the windows, but decided he rather liked not having Malik completely furious with him, and instead, with his head bowed, he slunk from the room like a kicked dog, Malik close behind him.

She pointed down the hall; "Go on now. Both of you."

The grizzled healer watched with an amused look as the two of them trudged by like scolded children.

Maria called a quick thank you to him as she passed and Altair was tempted to throw a knife at the man.

He wouldn't have been so disapproving if he'd only known what Maria had in mind. Since she'd discovered the pregnancy she'd become quite unpredictable. She'd changed from the alluring goddess of his dreams, to a devious and calculating woman who used his wariness to touch her stomach to her advantage. Manipulating him to giving her what she wanted because he did in fact, love her unconditionally and would do anything for her. Including this it seemed…

Altair's personal chambers were set in two rooms. A private study where he kept his personal writing and a few odds and ends he'd collected over the years. A trunk containing his surplus weapons, and maps he'd sketched while peering into the Apple.

There was also a collection of things Maria had gathered. A trunk containing her own weapons and armor, as well as baskets containing gifts for their impending child. Blankets and swaddling clothes, as well as a small collection of Tunics and trousers made by the seamstress in gradually larger sizes for Maria since she refused to wear the dresses she'd at first been presented with, saying that living among assassins it was rather impractical, and she rather liked being able to move about without stepping on her skirts.

Malik thought she just liked showing off the increasing size of her stomach to all who happened to look upon her. A kind of visual confirmation that she was pregnant and it was Altair's doing.

Malik also liked to think that the almost wince on Altair's face whenever she shouted at novices to fetch things for her, was Altair realizing that he'd not only married, but married a woman who broke all the rules of how women should behave.

Yes, she was a woman, yes she could act properly, she'd proven that before, but part of her enjoyed the thrill of power when she realized Altair was afraid of the child growing inside of her, and all she had to do to get him to do what she wanted was shout, throw something at him, or catch his hand and press it to her stomach so he could feel the life residing beneath her skin move about.

Though she seemed to be overly excited about this herself, letting some of the women in the hold feel the movement, as well as a few wide eyed young novices who earned her favor.

Altair didn't seem to mind… So long as she didn't make him touch it. He'd confessed to Malik one night, the two of them lying in a tangle of limbs in Malik's bed, that it reminded him too keenly of rats moving about in the carcass of a dead horse he'd seen once, and that was all he could think about when she tried to force his hand onto her belly no matter how hard he tried to think of the little life growing within her.

Malik also knew how frustrated Altair was with this, because in all actuality, he was terribly excited for the impending birth of his child. Having grown a liking to the idea of a small squirming bundle like he'd seen frequently in the village, knew how much Altair wanted the baby. He'd even caught the younger man in his study chin propped on his left hand, sketching in one of his books images of small children and babies he'd seen in his day to day life in Masyaf, also seen the sketches of what he imagined the child would look like as a girl or a boy.

Malik wanted to tell him that being a father was more complicated than being an assassin. Especially if Maria's baby should be a girl. Malik's own children, two girls nearing six years, were mischievous little things, and had a terrible tendency to make large dark, sad eyes at Malik and somehow make him agree to the craziest things.

These once monthly visits to Masyaf from Jerusalem sometimes seemed more trouble than they were worth because when he returned home, the girls always had a new scheme, or new plans… And Malik had an increasingly hard time saying 'no' to them.

Maria pushed open the bedchamber door and sat the lamp aside while she barred it. Dusting her hands together she turned to the two men standing like scolded children in the middle of the room. Shifting warily on their feet.

"Now!" She smiled brightly at them then wandered over to a large mound of pillows and poufs and reclined on it with a sigh hand on her belly, seeming to covertly draw attention to it to wear down Altair's resolve. "Please, have a seat." She motioned to the bed and watched with happy eyes as they shuffled to it and sat, putting as much distance between one another as possible on the pallet.

Malik found himself twisting the edge of his robes in his fist nervously, trying not to meet Maria's eye lest he start blushing like a fool.

He knew that sleeping with Altair in this bed had been a bad idea… He'd just been so—And Altair was always—

"This is your fault!" He hissed from the corner of his mouth at Altair.

Altair's head turned slowly, eyes wide, brows lifted in surprise; "What?"

"You and your damned mouth! If it wasn't for you this wouldn't be happening! But you had to goad me! You had to pull that face—"

"What face?"

"THAT FACE! That—_that—"_ He turned sharply to Maria and pointed at the white robed man; "You know what face he makes!"

Maria had her chin propped on forefinger and thumb, smiling pleasantly, her eyes dark and smoky looking in the low light; "Indeed… He does something with his eyes, lowers them and looks up at you through his lashes… It's almost a predatory look—Hungry…" Her other hand was slowly sliding down the curve of her stomach to rest high on her thigh. "And his lips… Yes, just like that."

Malik turned and stared at Altair, his brows raised, nose wrinkled up… And found himself staring at Altair's mouth. The soft curve of his lower lip, that pale scar—The slight shine of moisture from his tongue in the gap between them.

Malik liked seeing his lips parted like that, swollen and pinked, almost bruised, eyes heavily lidded but terribly, terribly intent, hazed and blazing from beneath sooty lashes. Liked seeing that little crease between his brows when orgasm was near… The flutter of his pulse in his neck.

"I've been curious, since I walked in on you in the upper library, when you had him sprawled over his desk with his legs on your shoulders, exactly how two men find pleasure in one another."

And Malik's throat constricted. He choked on a cough and heat flooded his face. He remembered quite vividly the door to Altair's private library opening and the surprised, openmouthed look on Maria's face when her eyes had landed on them, the shocked squawk and slam of the door again.

He'd been sure she was going to try to kill them, or at least expose them to the brotherhood, but she'd been surprisingly accepting_. 'It seems he has needs that I am not capable of fulfilling… At least it's you and not that idiot of an assistant of his.'_ And she'd waved her hand and walked off without another word.

Altair turned quite pale though and his eyes widened further, staring at his wife in shock and maybe even a small bit of humiliation.

Maria was grinning deviously now, eyes narrowed in a seductive way; "Malik, did you know I caught him in his study once touching himself?"

The pallor of Altair's face suddenly became bright pink.

"He was moaning like a common whore, his face all flushed, legs spread… I'm surprised everyone in the keep didn't hear him!"

Malik tried to fight off a grin at the other man's expense, but failed miserably.

"I liked seeing him like that, Malik… He's a different man when he's thinking of you." Her knees fell apart, hand slipping to rest on the inside of her thigh. "He has only ever once let himself completely go for me… And it was—" A look came over her face, a longing, almost powerful look, and Malik could practically feel the hunger and need rolling off of her. "I should very much enjoy seeing him like that again."

Malik swallowed thickly and suddenly became aware of the tight throbbing sensation between his legs, as well as the prominent lump in Altair's trousers.

"D-do you intend to… to participate?"

She flipped her hand in a disinterested way, and reclined amid the mound of pillows like a queen. "I have no desire for it at the moment… But, perhaps seeing how you and he interact in bed will spur my… appetite." Her legs spread and her hand rested lightly on the mound of her sex, and Malik wondered briefly, a fleeting ghost of a thought, if his own wife would be as accepting if she were to see the relationship he had with Altair in such a light.

He doubted it. Zaria was a loving, but inherently jealous woman… She already locked herself away and refused to leave their bedchamber when he was visiting Masyaf. His daughters frequently voiced their concerns and whispered to him that she argued to the walls and cursed bitterly when he was not there, and had once tried to hang herself with her veil when he'd been gone for longer than was usual because of winter flooding.

Malik loved his wife, cherished her like a precious jewel and enjoyed spending time with her even outside their marriage bed. Sometimes sitting beside her while she sewed watching her short lovely little fingers work, or hooking his arm around her waist and drawing her into a platonic, but deep embrace just to feel the strength in her arms, around him. Or even standing behind her while she prepared for bed just to help brush the long ends of her hair where her arms could not reach… But he also loved Altair, in a strange way, and couldn't fathom his life without either of them.

And this. Well, Malik didn't really know what to think of this. He was a very private person by nature. He didn't like feeling as if he were on show like a horse or a prized lamb in the market. He didn't like feeling as if he were being appraised, even less so when he thought about being watched during intimacy.

Altair seemed to share his concerns, because the taller man was hunching in on himself, his face an almost livid red.

"Altair, I must confess, I've only ever seen you so red in the face when you came down with that fever two years ago… Are you feeling alright?" Maria tilted her head to the side curiously, and Altair could have sworn he saw a gleam of condescending light in her eyes.

He narrowed his eyes at her in irritation.

"All I want, dear husband, is to see you loosed, to see all the fear and tension in you released… I do so love seeing you at that moment. When there is nothing but your pleasure. And Malik won't be back until after our child is born… And I fear I will be in no condition to enjoy such a sight then."

Altair shifted uncomfortably and finally broke his silence; "Why do you want this? What good will it do?"

"You're my husband… And if I'm not mistaken, that bulge in you trousers is evidence enough that I'm not the only one who wants it. So what do my reasons matter in the end?"

He glared at her from under his hood, and Malik watched as her face scrunched up pathetically, eyes glistening.

"If I've made a fool of myself by asking just say it! I'm strong enough to handle being told 'no'!"

And her hand slid back up to her stomach, and Malik knew then that Maria was a master of manipulation. The tears, the tremor in her voice, all of it was a carefully orchestrated ruse.

If he hadn't been a pawn in her grand scheme, he would have had to congratulate her on such a well designed and executed plan. As it was he found himself experiencing an unsettling rolling, sinking sensation in his stomach when Altair's eyes followed her hand, falling right into her trap and with a sigh, turned to Malik with apologetic eyes.

Malik scowled and tried to put as much venom in his glare as possible, shouting in his head; _You stupid novice…_

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	2. Chapter 2

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**Chapter 2; Close Enough**

"Just pretend I'm not here." Maria said, wiggling her hips into a more comfortable position amid the pillows.

Malik thought that pretending he was not being leered at during sex would possibly be the hardest thing he'd ever accomplished.

Altair's shoulders were tense, his face still quite red as he slowly began picking at the buckles and closures on his belts and harnesses. He could be a king of procrastination if he so desired, and both Malik and Maria knew it. He glanced upward at them, noting a striking difference in their expressions.

Malik was pointedly not looking at him, pulling at his own clothing in a meticulous way. Brushing dust from his coat, examining the hidden closures on the front of his robes before slowly pulling first one tie, then the other with deliberate gentleness, looking content to make this last as long as possible.

While Maria was tapping her fingers on her knee, mouth twisted into a crooked knowing smirk. "Is it really such a chore that I've asked you to have sex? Because I've seen you both put more effort and enthusiasm into mucking out the stables!"

"Because that is necessary… this is not."

And for the first time Malik saw genuine rage flare in Maria's eyes. "Not necessary?" She cursed vilely in French, plucked up a cushion and threw it with deadly accuracy at Altair's head. "Is your wife—Your PREGNANT wife's happiness not 'necessary'?" She stretched the word out into too many syllables, her face twisting up unattractively.

Altair dodged the pillow and turned to her, his robe open, the laces on his shirt gaping, exposing the pale expanses of his throat and a wedge of chest. "Your happiness is necessary, but this is ludicrous! I've not EVER asked you to—To do this in front of ANYONE!"

"I'm your WIFE! I've seen you at your lowest of lows! For God's sake, I've bathed and fed you when you were too fevered to remember your own name, Malik has as well!"

"That's different."

"How is it any different?"

"It simply IS!"

Malik closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

Everyone argued, he knew that, but before she'd gotten pregnant Maria had had a subtle way of arguing with Altair, instead of these loud shouting matches she would be calm and rational, would prop her fists on her hips and say in a commanding voice that she was not fighting with him like a child and they would settle it like they settled anything else in the keep.

The first two times it had happened he'd accepted that challenge and they'd wound up in the practice ring with swords. They'd actually truly fought only once, the battle ending with both swords dropped and Maria tangling her fingers under his hood while they stumbled to the nearest wall, mouths crushed together.

The second time Maria had nearly taken Altair's dick off with a short blade when he'd decided not to take the fight seriously and use his greater agility to spitefully toy with her.

After that when she suggested they settle their dispute like adults, he would stop, take her to a secluded place, they would talk and the issue would be resolved. Most usually in Maria's favor. She did tend to get whatever she wanted after all.

But it was almost as if the moment she discovered her pregnancy, all she wanted to do was scream at him.

Malik had a sneaking suspicion a few of the other wives in and around the keep had put her up to it… Not knowing that Altair, unlike their own husbands, actually listened to Maria when she spoke, and she didn't need to rant, and cry and shout to get attention.

The yelling reached a new level. Now nothing but angry French, and rude hand gestures.

And Malik decided he'd had enough, and the only way he was going to get any peace was to just do it and get it over with. Besides, it wasn't like she'd asked them to do something unpleasant, being watched notwithstanding.

While they were shouting, Maria fumbling, trying to get her feet under her, Malik stripped off his coat, kicked off his boots and managed to unfasten his belt and slither out of the coil of his sash. With an exasperated sigh he grabbed Altair by the hood of his robes and gave him a mighty pull, causing the young master to spill backward across the bed with a surprised grunt.

Maria went utterly quiet and Altair managed to lift himself onto his elbows with a surprised; "What are—" Before Malik crushed his mouth over the word and silenced him.

For a moment Altair was rigid, eyes wide and gazing up in confusion at Malik, but then the hand tangled in his shirtfront was gone, ghosting down his stomach, over his abdomen… And rubbing purposefully at the crotch of his pants.

And it was as if the tension melted out of him his eyes slipped closed, sliding back against the bed with a soft sigh in his throat and all nine fingers delved into Malik's hair, pulling him closer, lips parting with a sound that made the older man's stomach jump.

Maria was eerily silent, and when Malik glanced over at her, he noticed her eyes were wide and her mouth was hanging open in shock. Almost as if she hadn't truly believed it would work and they would actually be doing this in front of her.

Malik caught Altair's eyes, having to nip his lower lip sharply to get his full attention, then glanced furtively toward the corner of the room.

Altair tensed fractionally and when the other man's lips moved away from his own long enough to pull his hood off before lowering again, trailing across his exposed jaw and down his neck, he turned his head to give better access, as well as gaze at Maria through lowered lashes.

Her cheeks had taken on a glowing pink tint and her fingers were tightened into claws on her knees. Staring with her lips parted and her breath quick.

Altair shuddered, goose flesh rising in patches across his arms, legs and chest. His eyes slowly closed and Malik's mouth ghosted lower, nudging aside his clothing with his nose and laving wetly at his left nipple.

Shivers tore through him, breath leaving in a trembling whine, his mind seeming to latch on to that wet sensation. That hot, slick point of Malik's tongue, the chilled trail of saliva it left behind, the scrape of teeth—

His back arched into the pressure. Eyes falling shut, lips parting.

At that moment it seemed different parts of his body became interconnected. Drawn together like magnetic stones. His left hand came to his mouth, the backs of his knuckles dragged across his lips, feeling the heat and softness of his tongue and the smoothness of his teeth. His toes became attracted to his heels and curled in his boots, and his legs seemed to be intertwined with the impulses controlling his eyes, because just as his lids closed, his legs did the opposite. Just a subtle shifting of his knees toward the edges of the bed.

It was a strange reaction, but Malik jumped on it, wedging his thigh between the younger man's and grinning against the nub of flesh in his mouth.

Maria decided Malik's tongue, that wretched doubled edged thing Altair often grumbled bitterly about, must be somehow demonically possessed… Because the sounds it pulled from her normally quiet and reserved husband were sinful.

She'd only ever heard Altair make noises like that once, when they'd gone at it against a wall in his study after their one and only true fight.

That was also the night she started suspecting Altair had needs she couldn't, herself, completely fulfill. Because in the midst of their lovemaking he'd stopped kissing her, his eyes feverish as he'd looked left and right, mouth open, tongue darting from the corners of his dry lips. He'd made such exquisite sounds, fingers biting into her rump to hold her up, her tunic riding high on her back where it had bunched with their motions, exposing her flesh to the cold stone… And his eyes had landed on a wooden practice dagger lying on a shelf just a few feet away. A rather common thing, this one broken by an over eager novice and taken by the master to repair.

She remembered he'd whined oh so prettily his voice strained as his hips had continued moving in an almost desperate manner.

She'd found herself entranced by the dagger as well, just something to look at, a little mindless and unsure exactly why he was staring at it, then slowly she started to realize what the shape reminded her of, and she'd become acutely aware of where their bodies joined and the matter had been forgotten… Until afterward. Both of them collapsed on a rug in the floor, she'd realized he'd been looking at that hilt the same way she looked at him when she was in need of his attention.

It wasn't until she'd walked in on him, splayed on his back across a desk, Malik between his legs, rocking into him with practiced ease that she realized why.

It was obvious that he loved her, so she wasn't particularly upset. In fact she'd been relieved. She might not exactly be the best of friends with Malik, but they held a mutual respect for one another… On some level.

Malik didn't threaten her relationship with Altair, she knew that for a fact, so she didn't see any harm in it.

That was until she'd found one of Malik's books under the bed and one of the thin bandages he wrapped his abbreviated limb in, between the sheets.

When she'd found that strip of cloth though she'd immediately felt insulted that she hadn't been there to witness it. Then that changed quickly to rage that they hadn't asked her to join in, followed even faster by common sense telling her, Malik was married as well, he wouldn't touch another woman out of respect for Zaria. And should he ever, and should Zaria find out, Maria wouldn't put it past the woman to lop of the head of that hypothetical other woman, as well as Malik's offending organ.

Maria also worried what Malik's wife would think if she knew what their husbands were currently doing… And how much Maria was enjoying watching them.

Malik was on his knees now, stripped to his waist—Maria wondered when Altair had gotten him to take off his tunic and shirt. She was quite impressed by all his lovely skin. How it shone with perspiration and how his muscles bunched and trembled, just a shade darker than Altair's skin. She was surprised to see a scar slicing across his back and wondered where it had come from.

Altair's clothes gaped open obscenely, his belt and sash heaped on the floor with his boots, trousers riding low on his hips tented with the jut of his sex.

Heat was beginning to build in Maria's stomach in a most pleasant manner. And had she not needed to blink every so often she wouldn't have torn her eyes from the display the two men on the bed created had her life depended on it.

Altair breathed a sigh, a needy sound that broke half way from his throat as Malik's mouth moved lower over his chest, pinching with his teeth and leaving a dotted line of marks over his pectoral and ribs.

His tongue seemed to worship little scars and imperfections, almost mocking and drawing attention to them. His teeth catching on a particularly large ridge of scar tissue above his hip and following it at a torturously slow pace as it slanted across his belly and thinned to nothing under his navel.

Altair hated his pants at that moment. Hated the texture of linen against his privates, hated how stifling they felt… Hated even more that he could feel Malik's body heat through them against the insides of his thighs and the press of the other man's chest against his groin.

Malik seemed to sense this because he shifted, and that sharp knob of his adams apple rubbed against the bulge when he swallowed to wet his throat.

Altair was naught but primal noises by that point simply from the intensity of the sensations, and the knowledge that Maria was sitting there, not eight feet away WATCHING him. WATCHING Malik do THINGS to him.

**THINGS!**

His mind started racing, taking away any energy that could have been spent on speaking, or undressing, and instead threw thoughts back and forth in his head. Malik knew exactly how to turn him into a whining, jibbering mess. Knew exactly how to play his body like a musical instrument. How to make his nerves sing with such pleasure it border lined unbearable agony.

Malik knew how to make him needy, how to make him feel utterly helpless… And like it.

Malik knew how to make him beg…

And Oh, how Malik liked to make him beg. It gave the other man some strange satisfaction, some twisted validation that he wasn't broken, wasn't useless, wasn't half a man. Altair liked to make him work for it, because he knew that made it all the sweeter to Malik when he did break down and beg him… Though usually by that point he was a drooling mindless puddle of sex.

He did have to give Malik credit. The man had fantastic hips and knew how to use them.

But if Maria knew…

She already knew how to get under his skin, how to convince him, how to make him do things for her that he knew he probably shouldn't. What would she do if she knew how to make him beg in bed? If she knew that had Malik had really wanted to show off he could have made him howl with only a single finger and that damned mouth of his.

He whined, brows knitting as he tried to focus, tried to fight against that friction of cloth against his erection, the press of heat from Malik's thigh between his own, or the scrape of the other man's facial hair against his sensitive stomach. He tried to focus on keeping himself in control, tried to keep himself from moaning. Focused on staying quiet, telling himself that when Malik bit him there he wouldn't squirm. That when the man's fingers dipped beneath the waistband of his trousers and scratched through his pubic hair he wouldn't let his legs fall open so wantonly. When Malik kissed him, he wouldn't moan into it, wouldn't tangle his fingers in the other man's hair and whisper his name.

And the longer he focused on it, the more reactions he tried to list and tell himself he couldn't, the less of his concentration was actually focused on keeping his mouth shut.

Such a bitter cycle…

Malik though, took great pleasure in making Altair writhe. In reducing the younger man to eager, almost whorish behavior. Liked it when he could pull back from a kiss and Altair would follow him, lips parted and searching like a baby bird.

He liked the fact that he could make Altair, the Grandmaster, the man who struck down Templars and Barbarians, the man who had not fallen slave to the apple like so many others, lie down and part his legs. Liked knowing that Altair wouldn't let any other man do this, that he _wanted_ it, wanted HIM…

It was a powerful feeling.

Add to it his other feelings and Malik knew he was walking a thin, dangerous line.

Maria's mouth was quite dry, her throat feeling tight and she lifted a hand, letting her fingers trail along her neck and collar. The looks on their faces!

Altair had his eyes closed, but his expression was a mix of deep concentration and something that flirted dangerously with pain. And Malik… He looked hungry. His eyes dark, dilated and burning, a fierceness to him, and somehow an elegance…

Maria almost had to dig her nails into her flesh to keep her mind from wondering what it would feel like to have that man—All hunger and raw sexual power, leaning over her, pushing—She clenched her teeth on a moan, her fingers rubbing the edge of her sex through her pants, legs fallen open wantonly against the pillows.

She'd been joking when she'd said watching them may awaken her own appetite, but now… Now it wasn't so much a joke as a reality. It was a wonder Zaria even let him out of the house if he was like this in bed!

An image of Malik tied to the bed, glimmering in the candle light, scantily covered with red silk flashed in her mind quickly followed by an image of both men, tied, chained and huddling together, staring at her like that… All wanting and hungry—

"Mmmmm, yes… Take that off, let me see it—" The sound of her own voice startled her and she felt her heart throb in her throat.

Altair's eyes came open to slits, head tilting to the side to look at her. Malik working slowly up his body, rubbing with his whole hand at his croth, scraping his teeth along the other man's ribs before latching on like a feral cat to the side of Altair's neck, teeth visible between rolled back lips, flesh pinched white.

They both watched her, eyes lingering on her like predators sizing up a piece of meat.

Maria swallowed but didn't say a word more. Just locked her eyes with theirs and held her tongue.

Malik moved first, but his eyes never left her. His hips rolled forward, rubbing roughly against the thick lump in Altair's pants, and in turn the young master released a high moan and his eyes rolled back into his head, fingers twitching where they clutched at the older man's behind.

It seemed to him that he'd lost the battle before he'd even known it had begun.

His hands slid around to Malik's front plucking blindly at the lacings of his pants before hastily pulling at the lacings of his own. Pushing and tugging at the fabric until it pooled at the tops of his thighs allowing his manhood to spring forth, then his hands delved deep into the other's trousers and Malik arched as if he'd been stabbed.

His teeth parted, leaving a reddened crescent on the side of Altair's neck and his brow dropped forward, back arching as he rocked his hips into the younger man's grasp.

Maria twisted her neck, trying to peer around the gaping cloth, trying to see anything other than the motion of her husband's hands. Tried to imagine what it would feel like, and then Malik shifted, levering up his left knee to balance himself, forehead still pressed to Altair's shoulder, and his hand was moving, almost frantically, pushing at the younger's pants, then pulling at his own.

Maria released an inward yelp of victory when she caught sight of the difference in skin tone between Malik's torso and lower regions, a distinct line at his waist and around his left bicep. And then she found herself staring, shocked at thick twisted scars, and she realized almost all motion had stopped.

Malik was arched up, balanced with his head bowed into Altair's grip, pants pooled around his knees, his left side toward their audience… His eyes were closed tightly, and his fingers encircled Altair's left wrist, squeezing in an effort to still his stroking.

They were both panting, and Maria became aware of a tension in the air. She was almost tempted to ask what was wrong, but at the same time knew that if she spoke Malik would leave.

Something was different. Something had happened—

"It's alright…" Altair's voice was quiet, so quiet Maria could barely hear him.

"I thought I could do this— I-I thought… I don't know." He bared his teeth to Altair's chest.

"It's alright…" He tilted his head, breath hot against Malik's ear, and his fingers sliding up from his hip to tighten in his hair, kneading his scalp.

Maria watched them silently, noticing a vulnerability in both of them as Altair's hands stroked and petted, his voice hushed. Watched as slowly Malik began returning the kisses in a languid, tender way, watched as Altair lifted himself, following the dark haired man just to press their lips together, breathing, panting, nostrils flared. Mouths working together, tongues seeming to duel between their teeth.

They seemed to move in waves, Malik pulling, Altair pushing, until they were on their knees in the bed, fingers grasping, bodies pressing closer and closer together as if they wished to crash into one another.

The act had become less about sex and more about intimacy, this was a deeply, elementally, emotionally charged thing.

This wasn't something forbidden, something sinful… It was beautiful.

The desperation, the need, the give and take. Everything.

They grasped at one another as if they were the only two people in the world. Holding one another up as they moved, Turning and finally breaking apart long enough to kick off trousers that had gathered and bunched around their ankles, tangling in the sheets, and Malik sat back on his heels, pulling at Altair's hip until the other man straddled his lap and Maria could see candlelight between their bodies. Could see each tender press of lips, the rippling of muscles and the sheen of sweat on scarred flesh.

They were pressed together, Altair's sex lined up along Malik's, standing proudly between them.

Maria had once thought all men were formed the same, and that a man's genitals were ugly dangly bits of flesh that reminded her of strangled and plucked chickens, and the first time she'd seen a man erect she'd been scared to death, thinking it an ugly, angry thing. Even now she could think of dozens of more appealing things to look at, but at the same time there was something visceral about seeing the two of them pressed together so. Something bare and truthful in a way she couldn't explain.

Here they were, two strong time hardened men, two assassins. Men who were trained and schooled since childhood to kill, naked and trusting one another so fully, so completely.

Altair's right hand shifted between them, curling his fingers around their lengths, tilting his head back, exposing his throat and chest to Malik's teeth and lips while his hand worked up and down, his hips rocking in time with the motion.

And Maria found herself entranced again, she'd found herself fascinated with Altair for years now, even more so when she was able to sneak around without his knowledge and watch him pleasure himself.

The first time had been an accident, stuck together on ship from Cyprus he'd kept her close to prevent the sailors from abusing her, and she had one night been woken by the hushed sounds of him curled amid his blankets, he'd looked helpless, mouthing his left wrist and fingers to quiet himself, eyes closed, lashes fanned on his cheeks…

He wore the same expression now, looking lost to his own pleasure and while Malik attached himself to Altair's throat, he slid his hand over the younger man's chin and offered his fingers, tracing lips and teeth and moaning as his thumb was sucked in.

It was almost lewd the way Altair's mouth worked over Malik's fingers, his tongue somehow staying hidden at all times, lips pulled with the movement of their bodies, teeth scraping.

Altair had discovered an oral fixation shortly after the gash to his face had healed, the scar tissue numb and smooth, a strange contrast to the sensitivity around it. Maybe it came from memories of tasting sweet cake dough from sticky fingers, or chewing on a piece of licorice root, or when he'd been very young and remembered seeing his mother pick up his father's hand one evening and draw his index finger into her mouth, staring deeply into one another's eyes.

Maybe it was inherited, but he'd found his tongue was inclined to curl around things, his own finger, a stolen slice of honey comb, Malik's fingers… The sensation of having something in his mouth sent a jolt right to his crotch.

Malik grinned against the pulse in his neck, the moments of nervousness when he'd glanced over and seen Maria staring at what was left of his arm forgotten, "Yes…" He hissed licking over a reddened spot he'd created in the dip of Altair's throat, just under his adam's apple. "You'll take any part of me you can get won't you."

As if in answer Altair gave him a rough squeeze and rocked sharply against him. Scraping teeth against his knuckles.

Malik chuckled and chest rumbled with a sound like a purr. "But you're not satisfied with fingers are you…"

He whined in response, brows knitting.

"You want something m-more, don't you."

It wasn't a question, and Maria's eyes caught movement, Altair's free hand moving from Malik's shoulder where he'd been bracing himself, sliding down the older man's side, rubbing against a nipple as he passed it, up his own thigh, nails turned to claws, raking upward, over his hip and down again.

She felt her own hand following a mirroring path, watching without blinking as Altair seemed to have a debate with himself, fighting an urge, as if some invisible force were drawing that hand closer and closer.

"What do you want?" Malik growled it. Such a dark, rich sound and Altair visibly flinched, hand moving of its own accord, tracing his hip again before sliding over the curve of his behind, Malik's fingers preventing his mouth from closing completely, sounds he would have bitten off otherwise leaking out into the air.

His missing finger left a gap as he dug his nails in, almost as if Malik was controlling that hand for him, maybe he was, Maria was too enthralled to care at the moment, as Altair's middle finger disappeared, his body rocking sharply forward, as there was no doubt in her mind what he was doing back there. She wanted to ask them to turn so she could see, so she could watch her husband's fingers disappear into his own body, wanted to know what he was feeling. Her lips felt raw between her teeth, and a damp patch was growing in the crotch of her pants.

Malik glanced over at her, hearing soft whimpering noises that weren't coming from Altair, and as if he could read her mind, drew his hand away from Altair's mouth, braced it against the small of his back, and rocked to his knees, pushing Altair backward with a startled gasp to rest against the pillows.

Maria almost cried out at the suddenness of it, but clamped her teeth together tightly, eyes widening.

Altair's knees were cocked up over Malik's hips, tendons in his thighs standing out when he'd tensed at the suddenness of it.

"She wanted to see…" Malik hissed in his ear, and the tension seemed to melt out of Altair.

Their mouths crushed together again and Maria let herself drink in the sight of them, every angle, every roll of hips. She caught herself staring at the bit of dark hair she could see between Malik's legs from behind, watching with her lip between her teeth, eyes heavily lidded as Altair's hand snaked between them, fingers ghosting over the cleft of his body, finger sinking slowly torturously into himself, his eyes locked on Maria, glowing nervously as she watched his knuckles disappear, then reappear as he moved.

She was struck then, a little frightened. His body seemed to hug his finger snugly, and if her memories were correct, Malik had had more than a finger in him.

Had it hurt?

He'd looked lost in pleasure when she'd walked in, but there was a fine line between pleasure and pain. Could she have been mistaken?

That part of her own body could never do that… Why could his?

But she couldn't ask. Couldn't open her mouth and ask Malik; 'Are you going to hurt him when you do this?'

She understood that Altair had needs she couldn't fill, but what if those needs were for pain? What if those needs weren't healthy? What if those needs hurt him?

Assassins were still strange creatures to her, even though she'd been living among them for years now.

"Altair?"

They seemed too engrossed in kissing, deep kissing as if they were trying to eat one another, Malik's hand tangled in his hair, Altair's right stroking them slowly, his left working that finger into him.

"Altair."

Hands stilled, and he turned his head, but Malik kept kissing, his cheek, his jaw, moving to nibbling around his ear.

He grunted and swallowed thickly, his throat dry. His mind felt splintered, saturated with pleasure and not quite able to function well enough to hold an intelligent conversation. But Maria would only be interrupting if it was important… Or if she wanted him to move. He hoped she wanted him to move because he couldn't quite get his fingers deep enough in this position, and the need had built into a terrible, insatiable thing and if he didn't get some kind of relief soon he was going to go mad. Where was that damned apple when he needed it… A copy of himself right about now would be very helpful.

"Altair, it doesn't… It doesn't hurt does it?"

Yes, it did hurt, it hurt every time, but there was something else. Something better that made the hurt worth it. Knowing who it was, knowing that the man inside him wasn't doing it to bring pain, wasn't doing it to humiliate him, or punish him—Knowing it was _Malik_… His chest tightened thinking about it. So many mixed up, confused emotions, so many things he couldn't say with words.

This was the only way they could say it. The only safe way to express what they felt. Because words would mean something. Altair didn't want Malik to know it meant something…

Malik didn't want Altair to know that he already knew.

_Yes_, he thought, eyes closing tightly, trying to hide his face in Malik's neck. It did hurt.

Maria watched transfixed as they moved. Watched Altair's finger sliding in and out of his body, his toes curling into the soles of his feet, heard his voice gaining a frustrated whining quality as he exhaled. It seemed contagious, because a few seconds later, Malik lifted his head, scowling between their bodies.

And Maria cleared her throat, gaining Malik's begrudging attention, eyes flicking to a small table beside the bed, and a little copper pot sitting there looking innocent.

His hand came up quickly, knocking the little lid off the pot and delving three fingers into it at once, scooping out what looked like an obscene amount of the thick salve, before planting his elbow on the bed by Altair's ribs and pushing himself onto his knees.

Altair's right hand came up tangling in the dark curling hair on Malik's chest, like an anchor, head rocking back against the pillows as the older man's hand went between them. He released a sharp little noise and his hips came off the bed, left knee hooking over Malik's right shoulder for leverage, inadvertently giving Maria a look at exactly what was going on.

Where Altair had been slowly, almost hesitantly working a finger in himself, Malik was seeming to attack him, index finger buried to the last knuckle, moving in and out with purpose. She could see the puckered ring of his entrance stretching around the digit. She couldn't help but stare as Malik withdrew his finger and rubbed that sticky looking salve around and around, pausing every so often to press some into him, her ears filled with Altair's whines and grunts as he just laid there and let Malik work him open. Easing a second finger into him, pushing, pushing, pushing—

Maria's stomach tightened when she saw Altair's brow wrinkle in a way that was distinctly pained, and was opening her mouth to ask Malik to slow down when the older man's wrist flexed, fingers cocking upward, and Altair's heels dug into his back, hips trembling, breath leaving in a moan.

Their mouths smashed together again, but Maria was still watching where Malik's fingers were pressed into Altair's body. Watching for any sign of discomfort, but what Malik was doing inside him seemed to have made the pain he was experiencing bearable.

Maria wondered if that spot, whatever and wherever it was, was like the little nub that Altair had assaulted with his talented, deceptively gentle fingers the first time they'd lain together, shocking her with feelings she'd been unaware even existed. She wondered if what Altair was feeling wasn't similar to what she'd felt that night. Because those feelings had been the only reason she'd been able to relax and actually enjoy what had always before been painful.

Pleasure that intense could make you want that pain… Could make it—

"That's it…" Malik pressed his face into the hollow of Altair's shoulder breathing quickly, lips parted.

He rippled, the muscles of his stomach rolling, pressing against Malik's shoulder and hip with his heels to lift and lower his hips, the older man's erection pressed snuggly into the crease where his inner thigh met his privates, the weight of his testicles a warm firmness just to the side and beneath his own.

There was something terribly satisfying about the sensation of Malik's bare skin pressed so intimately against his own. Thick muscle, coarse hair, firmness, the spice of his scent. Smokey and dark like incense, and sweet like honey. He wanted to latch his teeth into Malik's shoulder and not let go… Wanted Malik to keep nibbling on his ear like that. It sent shocks or heat right to his crotch.

He wanted Malik to do so many things to him. Things he would never voice because to ask would let him know he wanted them. Things that were different than wanting to feel him resting heavily between his legs, the push and pull of the older man's sex inside him. Things that would change how Malik looked at him, how everyone looked at him…

So all he could do, the only thing he would allow himself to do, was tangle his fingers in the curls on Malik's chest, and the hair of his head, and hiss halfhearted threats and curses in his ear, hoping to make him angry enough that he would push just a little more, just a little harder.

It hadn't worked yet, but he still tried, hoping.

Malik chuckled darkly and took a deep breath, slowing his motions to try and regain a bit of control over himself. Glancing to his right where Maria was sprawled on her throne of cushions eyes wide, lips parted, watching with such fascination, such captivation she seemed to be made of stone.

He shifted rolling his shoulder forward, pushing against the back of Altair's knee at the same time he spread his fingers, making room for a third.

Altair's hands curled like claws and his head thumped back against the pillows, voice stretched into a high keen shortened on a gasp. Golden eyes closed so tightly the bridge of his nose wrinkled.

His left hand slid down Malik's chest, fingers slipping in the sweat beading there, and dropped to his own abdomen, palm cradling his shaft, squeezing. The intensity of Malik's probing coupled with his own long slow strokes created such exquisite pressure. He could have quite easily just hung there with his leg on the older man's shoulder and jerked himself to completion, could have done so without any regret.

"That's enough of that." Malik growled against his chest, teeth scraping and leaving raised red trails in their wake. He tilted his head to look down between their bodies. Gritting his teeth in discomfort not only at the swollen, uncomfortably hard state of his own shaft, his testicles heavy and tight, grown dark with need, but also at the twinge of straining muscles in his lower back and legs. He released a whine, eyes locked on Altair's hand, a hand that caused so much death, that weapon of war, curled around his dick, watching the skin sliding, the veins pulsing with each beat of his heart, the shift of his sac each time they moved. The slicked, reddened ring of his entrance, stretched wide around three fingers. His inner flesh glistening wetly in the sparse candle light. "You have to stop that… Watching you do that—" He growled, deeply in his throat; "I wanted to take this slowly. W-wanted to have s-some kind of control—I—I can't wait anymore. I want in here—" He crooked his fingers upward viciously, rubbing back and forth over that lump of nerves and sensitive tissue. The strangled, desperate noise he received in return made it all worth it. Made the humiliation of being watched during this most intimate of acts, made the pain of his neglected member, the unease, all the self awareness and shyness he'd felt completely melt away.

"If you want this, Altair, you have to do something other than laying there like a disinterested woman…" He shifted his knees on the sheets, widening his stance for balance.

"Dis-in… Disinterested?" Altair snarled and wrenched Malik's head up by the hair until their eyes met. Smoky midnight with glazed amber. The hand on his dick jerked back over his head, flapping about in an angry searching motion for the little copper pot of salve and he sank his index and middle fingers in with a vicious scooping motion and pulled them out again, the little pot flying off the table and tumbling across the floor to stop by Maria's foot.

Maria felt her pulse quickening and before she knew what she was doing, she'd shifted closer to the bed, feeling that whatever was about to happen would be the culmination of everything. Would be exactly what she'd wanted to see and if she wasn't close enough she would miss something vitally important, something small, miniscule maybe. But something so important it itself was half the reason her husband and Malik did this.

Altair's hand seemed to stab between their bodies, and he took Malik's manhood in a vice like grip, the older man's head dug into his shoulder and he released a sharp choked cry, his body hypersensitive, so much so even the shift of the air against his tip drew a slick milky drop forth.

Altair's thumb caught it, rubbing back and forth with the callused pad, giving Malik a taste of that pleasure so acute it was almost agony. Malik responded simply. A sharp, harsh thrust into his fist, fingers digging upward as if he meant to stroke the younger man's prick from the inside.

"You move to slow!" The words were hissed almost breathlessly into Malik's scalp and the older man felt Altair's whole body trembling. Could feel the heat of his flushed face, see a fraction of the color creeping down his neck to paint his chest a bright vivid red, breath quick, panting, whooshing in and out of his lungs like storm winds. His pulse pounding in the side of his throat like drumbeat; "Always so slow."

And then Malik had pulled his hand back, sliding his palm up the back of Altair's thigh to the bend of his knee, pushing the limb up—

Maria's breath hitched in her throat, her insides tightening an apprehension, her mind recalling discomfort, pain and a feeling of wrongness from the first time she'd let a man touch her… There was always that small instant of apprehension, even with Altair, a man who'd only ever shown her pleasure. It was strange to feel it now, when she was sitting there, six feet from them, fully clothed. It was strange to feel that fear when it wasn't her being penetrated. And suddenly she knew… She knew the real reason she'd wanted to see this. Knew the real reason she'd wanted to witness their lovemaking.

She wanted to assure herself that Malik wasn't hurting him, wasn't hurting the man who'd given her a reason to enjoy sex, a man who'd shown her immeasurable pleasure. She wanted to make sure he only felt pleasure in return… And if Malik was hurting him, she wanted to make him stop. Wanted to protect and save Altair from the pain and humiliation she'd endured at the hands of her previous lovers.

Malik moved as if to shove into him violently, in a quick, nearly hateful way… But the motion slowed the second he'd shifted his hips enough to align his tip with Altair's entrance.

There was a moment, a look, a hesitation that was all too familiar. Malik pressed his forehead against Altair's, their eyes locked, breath mingled, the motion itself was smooth, easy, just a gentle rocking of his hips, and a tightening of Altair's fingers in Malik's hair, drawing him closer.

And before Maria's eyes, Malik's entire length disappeared into him. Opening him and filling him in the same moment.

They stayed like that for a long few seconds, completely still, Malik pressing soft little kisses to Altair's cheeks and mouth.

It was a moment to catch their breath and simply feel the other, feel themselves where they meshed.

Altair glanced around and caught Maria's gaze. He held it for a moment, curious, as if he'd forgotten she was even there. Maybe he had. Then his cheeks burned bright red and like an embarrassed child, he hid his face in Malik's neck.

Malik chuckled lighly, and tried not to look at Maria, tried to ignore her presence because if he dwelled on it too long he wouldn't be able to look his wife in the eye upon his return. He was only able to do so as it was because he'd shared an intimate relationship, on one level or another, with Altair since he was fifteen. Long before he'd met Zaria, and he'd learned how to keep it hidden. Society, even that of assassins trained since infancy to kill frowned upon relations between two men, he'd learned to hide it, and quickly… The price for being discovered was too steep, and he cared for Altair too deeply to risk it.

Being watched, or even known about, was a new and frightening experience, and it seemed, by the way Altair had tensed and buried his face, that Malik wasn't the only one wary of the situation.

Maria may be accepting, but the rest of the world was not.

Altair calmed his breathing and tried to relax himself, focusing on where Malik's body was joined with his own, instead of his wife's presence in the room. Instead of the thoughts and half formed memories screaming in his head. He could feel each movement, each tiny little shift of the other man's hips against his own. The barely audible voice in his ear asking in a breath if he was alright. He nodded and the hand in Malik's hair uncurled, his arm going across the former Dai's shoulders pulling him close like a hug, lips and teeth latching on and worrying gently at his collar bone, reminding himself that he couldn't leave any marks. Not a single one.

He wanted to though, wanted to bite and suck and leave a red welt on the front of Malik's throat for all the world to see. Wanted to claim him in a way only the two of them would know.

He envied Zaria sometimes, and wished that she and Maria were more alike. Had dreamed of a tangle of limbs and hands and lips and bodies all pressed together with one purpose.

With a whine he shifted, pulling Malik closer to him with the leg cocked over his hip, while at the same time sliding his left hand, still slick with excess salve down the older man's back, letting his middle finger delve into the cleft of Malik's ass and rub around and around his entrance, grinning in satisfaction when the action caused him to buck, that soft warm pucker fluttering in a way that was just too inviting to pass up, and he sank his finger forward into him.

Malik had allowed Altair to penetrate him before, didn't have a problem with allowing the younger man to take him when he was asked. Altair, after all, was a good lover. But as a novice he and Malik had traveled to Egypt and encountered a Harem of dancing girls… Altair had walked away with intimate knowledge of the female body, and Malik had walked away with a secret skill. A skill that seemed to carry over to the bedroom as well.

The man had fantastic hips…

They rose and fell slowly at first, Malik rocking on his knees while Altair used his heels to gain leverage and move his hips into each thrust, breath exiting in a soft whine as their bodies settled deeply together.

Maria had watched shadows play against the wall while she and Altair made love before. Had become entranced with the erotic play of light and darkness against stone and tapestry. The glow of candlelight across sweat dampened skin, and on occasion the draw and plunge of Altair's shaft into her body. Now she was hypnotized by the way Malik moved, a roll ending with a quick snap upward, his flesh visible as he withdrew, pulling at her husband's opening, the snug ring fitting perfectly around him, disappearing as he thrust.

She felt herself following their motions, her breath synchronizing with Altair's, sighing when he sighed, inhaling when he inhaled.

It was a steady rhythm, a give and take, like wind through tall grass. Climbing upward like a gentle slope.

Malik glanced at her twice, as if watching her reactions as well as Altair's, seeming to pick up his performance each time he scanned her with his eyes. Twisting his body a fraction so she could see the bob of Altair's sex, or the milky drop sliding down his length, or the way he twitched every time Malik popped his hips a certain way. How his hand had fallen away from teasing Malik's opening to clutching like a talon at his hip.

It was like an invitation, and Maria couldn't help but be drawn slowly forward. Like a carnival show, or shadows on a curtain.

The closer she got, the more distance there seemed to be between the two men's chests, until Malik was practically standing on his knees and Altair had his right hand flattened on the mattress pushing and tangling his fingers in the sheets, lashes fanned on his cheeks, lips parted, gasping for breath.

It was eerily beautiful, this dance of pleasure. This sin of the flesh.

Maria was enraptured by the sound, and sight, and the visceral, REAL quality of it.

There was nothing mystical about it. This was pure and simply a deep physical act. Two people melding together in a wet and ultimately messy fashion.

She had to bite her tongue to keep from giggling more than once from the sheer absurdity of it.

Sex, she decided, may feel fantastic, and may (if you're in a particular mood yourself) be fun to watch, but it sounded kind of strange.

She remembered as a child hearing her parents go at it in the night and wonder what kind of game they were playing, moaning like ghouls and thumping against the wall and making their bed groan like that. In the dark no less!

She found she had to look away from them a few times to regain her composure before she made a fool of herself and embarrassed the both of them by giggling.

Altair would sulk for weeks if she giggled. He'd proven that once by pouting like a child after a particularly 'noisy' incident when she'd discovered he was ticklish under his arms and at his waist.

She enjoyed sex too much to embarrass him during the act. Especially when he so obviously seemed to be enjoying himself.

For that matter, she enjoyed hearing such noises from him. The only other time she'd heard him whimper or cry out like that he'd been on the verge of death. It was surprising to realize sounds of pleasure were so terribly close to sounds of pain.

Malik's brow was creased with concentration, eyes heavily lidded, chin lowered to his chest, hips rolling and shifting, drawing a constant array of differently pitched and length sounds from the young master.

Altair it seemed had lost all the strength he'd had to clutch and cling and fight back the sounds with, he barely seemed to have the strength to meet Malik's thrusts, his body limp against the pillows, the leg hooked around the other's hips loose, tendons standing out in his inner thigh where the skin looked slightly chafed. His testicles were heavy, drawn tight to his body and flushed darkly, his erection almost parallel with his belly at this point, so swollen and filled with blood it looked painful.

And it seemed that whatever Malik was doing, he wasn't planning on letting Altair find his release any time soon, and whenever the younger man's hand ventured near his prick, the former Dai would lock eyes with him, or mouth the inside of his knee, scraping teeth along sensitive flesh until that hand fell back to the sheets.

Maria didn't know how much time had passed, didn't really know if she wanted to. But she was satisfied. She'd gotten her answer. Malik would no sooner hurt him during sex than he would harm his own wife.

There was more between them than just pleasure… And it was written as plainly across their faces as if she'd scripted it there in ink.

Altair though, was sure Malik was trying to kill him, the older man would move his hips in ways that would have him almost screaming, his release a hair's breadth away, toes curling, nails scratching—Then he would change the angle of his thrusts, or press his leg up higher and that tightening, almost itching sensation heralding orgasm would be snatched away.

He knew what Malik wanted after the third time he'd done this. Malik wanted a feat he'd only managed three times before and never without assistance. The first time with the help of Malik mercilessly pinching the base of his erection with finger and thumb, and at the same time what had felt like castration between his fore and middle finger.

It had hurt, and the sensation that had followed had caused him to completely loose consciousness, which had defeated the entire purpose of it actually.

The second time had been the same genital trap of death, but thankfully Malik had allowed him to apply the pressure himself. After that Malik had tried to instruct him on how to focus on the stimulation to that little nub inside him and ignore everything else, how doing this would cause the same reaction. About a dozen failed attempts later, four of them by himself with the polished wooden handle off a practice dagger, Altair resorted to that damned finger trap again and had given up trying to achieve those feelings without it.

But now, here was Malik trying to make him try again. And as indulgent as he was feeling seeing as it was obvious he wouldn't let him come unless he tried, he really just wanted Malik to stop teasing him. He was exhausted, he was so hard it hurt, and he just couldn't think with the man's dick working away at his insides like that.

With every roll and snap of hips Malik seemed to be teasing him, taunting him with his own release before snatching it away. He barely registered the fact the other was sweating, shaking and barely hanging on himself.

He was too overwhelmed by sensation, and if he wasn't allowed to come this time he was going to give up, he was going to break down and beg. It was too much. He needed it. NEEDED it…

And the next thing he was aware of, aside from the push and pull, the heat and the pleasure that flirted so dangerously with the border of pain, making it impossible to do much more than roll his pelvis upward, his hips feeling unhinged toes curled into the soles of his feet—Was that Maria was on the bed by his shoulder, one hand petting his stomach, tickling the sweat slicked ripples of quivering overworked muscles. The other hand on his head, stroking his wet hair from his brow, cooing in his ear, her voice lowered and husky, her lips hot and moist against his jaw, kissing.

The hand on his stomach slid lower, sliding along the cap of his sex, making him twitch and release a high pitched whine, hips stuttering in their rhythm.

So close, oh please, he was so close!

Above him Malik's eyes were slit, watching Maria warily, his fingers curling warningly into Altair's thigh, as if to say he was becoming uncomfortable with her proximity, but Altair was too far gone, and had been for a while, to do anything more than whine with each breath, all thought melted away into pure sensation and the need of it.

Maria hummed in a satisfied way, her cool slim fingers slowly, torturously working her husband's manhood. Pumping in time with the other man's thrusts into his body.

"If you can make _him_ moan and tremble like this I think I can understand why Zaria is so possessive of you." She let the tip of her tongue roll over her lips and her hand sped up fractionally. "What does it feel like, Altair? What does it feel like to have him inside of you like this?"

His breath hitched, but came out again in a half cry, a shuddering high sound of desperation. His brows lifted over his eyes, lips parting and half formed words came out with each breath in hopes that if he was able to speak, maybe Malik would be distracted enough to push just a little harder just a little, that's all he wanted. "Good… hng—F-feels—"

"No," Maria captured his earlobe between her teeth and bit it sharply. Not enough to break the skin but enough to sting and make him snap his hips upward and cause Malik to grunt. "What does it feel like?"

He seemed to struggle with himself. His brow creasing, and somehow, the troubled, but enraptured look on his face made want curl like a heated spiral in Malik's belly and he felt the edge of his lips lift into a smirk.

Without warning he pressed harder into the back of Altair's knee with his hand, rolling his hips forward in deep slow thrusts rocking upward at the end of each forward movement.

The message was clear, even without Malik's words, Altair could hear him plainly through his motions, motions that staved off yet another chance at orgasm and held it just out of his reach.

_'Yes, what does it feel like, Altair? What exactly makes you whimper and moan like a whore when I take you? What is so special that the Master of Assassins would part his legs and beg for it?'_

"I-It's h-hot… Deep—" He cried out, an almost sob and turned his head away, panting as if drowning, eyes closed, lashes fanned on his flushed cheeks, he tried to swallow the spit filling his mouth, but couldn't quite manage it, some leaking from the edge of his lips, "Deeper, please, _please_, I can't… _hng—_Full—Hmmm— Full, yes—_YES!"_ His teeth sank into his lip then parted, mouth open and gasping, surprise written plainly over his features.

Above him Malik's head pitched forward and he groaned throatily, hips snapping quickly, breath shallow through parted lips. "That's it… Th-that's it."

Maria stared in awe while he twitched in her hand, surprised and shocked because she knew that feeling, knew he was coming, but there was no fluid as she was used to, no splatter or wetness save that which was already there.

What mystery had Malik unlocked within his body that he was able to make him come without releasing?

He moaned out weakly, his throat feeling raw, and he seemed to go boneless, allowing Malik to move his body letting the other man thrust in and out of him. His voice was quiet, barely a whisper, stuttered half in Arabic half in a language it was possible only he understood.

"I'm open. A—_mmm_—a single p-point and there is n-nothing else," His hand lifted palm curled slightly, fingers loose, and he formed his hand against the back of Malik's neck, not pulling or insistent, just there, an anchor. His words dissolved into ancient tongues impossible syllables and rich, flowing rhythms like the sea and sky, like wind on green hills.

Malik's pace was quickening.

Altair shuddered, words chanting out of his throat; "Mal-Ma-aliik, I can f-feel it. Oh, it-its-" He whined helplessly, head dropping back onto the pillow. "I-I ca-can't—not again, please… I just, I need—"

Malik ground his teeth, trying to bite back his own sounds of pleasure, but it was a battle short lived before his head bowed into the other man's grasp, mouth open, breath escaping in grunts and half sobs. A bead of moisture glittered on the end of his nose and Maria tried to tell herself it was sweat, but didn't believe it. "Let it happen… Please."

There were six consecutive, almost frantic thrusts, the sharp wet sound of skin on skin and—And there it was.

That look of complete rapture, so acute, so pure it almost resembled agony melting into existence across Altair's face, his lips parted and words spilled out on his breath, whispered between his gasps.

It was almost as if the world shuddered its relief along with them. Some strange tingling sensation filled the air, drew everything forward and breathed it back out again.

Maria's hands tangled in the bedclothes and she imagined she could feel it, that single almost weightless moment before the world became lost to them. Before Altair's breath hitched in his throat and Malik's shuddered out on a groan, the only sound they made as for that split moment their bodies seized, and ceased to function save the gentle rocking motions of hips and tightening of thighs as pleasure peaked and crashed through them, wetness across his chest and lights behind his eyes.

And then it was over.

Malik was collapsed on Altair's chest, eyes closed, lips pale as if he'd passed out. And Altair was lying there like a dead thing, flushed and shining with sweat. His hair dark and matted in tendrils to his face and neck.

Maria stared at them for a long few moments until she felt a weight on her stomach and looked down, breath caught in her throat, to see Altair's fingers curled gently, in a soft harmless way, against the protrusion of her stomach.

For some reason tears prickled in her eyes and her lips curled into a small satisfied smile as her eyes closed and she simply relished in the feeling of it.

It was silent for a long few moments, breaths the only sound, and then Maria felt the fingers on her belly twitch.

"What's that?"

His voice was rough, barely a hiss.

Maria cracked open an eye and peered out surprised at the tangle of limbs beside her. Malik still hadn't moved, limp and immobile save the rise and fall of his back with breath. She was starting to think he was actually unconscious. But Altair was peering out from under his lashes, brow creased in confusion.

It was obvious just from the expression on his face, a twisted unsure thing, that his mind still hadn't recovered enough to properly function, so she supposed that in and of itself was a blessing, because had he been in possession of all his facilities he probably would have recoiled as he had every other time his hand had gone near her stomach.

And never let it be said Maria was not one to take advantage of situations that fell in her favor.

She wiggled around just a little until she was sitting up against the pillows, and calmly covered his hand with both her own, flattening his fingers and rubbing his wrist in a soothing manner while he puzzled over the movement he could feel from beneath her skin.

"That, Altair, is our son or daughter begging for attention."

He blinked rapidly for a few seconds then made a soft sound in his throat.

"See, not so bad is it?" She felt herself smiling, wishing she could hold him there for the rest of time.

He sighed and his eyes slid shut, brow scrunching. "Malik?"

A grunt.

"I can feel it."

A midnight blue eye cracked open and peered outward blearily. "'s bout time… Jus' you wait 'till it gets here… Nothin' like it…" He sighed deeply, closing his eye. "I hope you're not 'specting me to move any time soon."

Maria could barely understand him through the slur of his words. It seemed the rumors were true that Altair recovered faster than a normal man. "Not if you put that hand of yours to good use and tell me what you think of our baby."

Malik's brows knotted; "After I've bathed… And dressed… And sleeped… Slept."

"Alright, if you do something for me."

Another grunt.

"Teach those little hip motions of yours to Altair. They seem very… Entertaining."

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_(NOTE; I think this is the longest sex scene I've ever written… But, like I said before, it was supposed to be part of a larger fic I'm working on but it was edited out because it just slowed the story too much. I think this might be the longest Author's Note I've ever written as well… So, if you don't want to read notes on the fic, feel free to skip it._

_FYI; Unless you can't tell, I really like Malik, and the thought of him being able to belly dance turns me into a pile of yaoi-fangirl shaped goo:D The thought of Altair on bottom is another one those reoccurring themes you'll find in my Malik Altair fics, but I like a good Malik bottom fic as well and I've written one or two myself. _

_For this fic, and the larger one it came from Altair has a bit of an unsavory history when it comes to gay sex. In my head he was 'conditioned' by two older boys as a young teen, for part of his 'training'. Meaning, they were jealous of his success and cornered him on occasion, beat him up because despite his talent they were bigger and stronger, and molested him. He was eventually able to overcome it, but through his teenage years until he was big enough to fight the two of them off, or they were killed on missions, IDK yet, he isolated himself in an attempt to hide his 'weakness' and poured all his pain and anger into training and becoming better. He secretly craves Malik being forceful with him, but Malik knows what happened and won't do it because he worries he'll remind him of the two boys who hurt him._

_In this fic universe, Malik is married to a woman named Zaria and has two daughters born a year apart who are rather mischievous spoiled little things. __Zaria__ is bipolar, obsessive compulsive. Their marriage was arranged by Al Mualim two days after Malik's arm was amputated, and it's a good thing he was too sick to remember their wedding night. The marriage was arranged simply to get __Zaria__ pregnant in hopes of perpetuating Malik's bloodline. _

_Malik and Altair are also younger in this fic than they are portrayed to be in the game. Simply because in the 12th century most people died before the age of 35 and I have a really hard time believing they were about 26. Historically speaking, if they had existed, they probably would have been in their late teens at the time of the __Temple__ incident. As for me saying Malik is older than Altair, it's only a 2 month difference. ;) )_

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